The Illusory Portrait of R. Yom Tov Lipmann Heller: Deceptive Art and Jewish Images in Vienna

By: Dan Rabinowitz

For if I am deceived, I am.
for he who is not, cannot be deceived;
and if I am deceived,
by this same token I am.

Wolfgang Kemp after St Augustine of Hippo
(Epigraph to Rembrandt Hoogstraten: Colour and Illusion)

On October 8, 2024, Vienna’s Museum of Fine Arts, the Kunsthistorisches Museum, opened the exhibit “Rembrandt – Hoogstraten Colour and Illusion.” The museum’s permanent collection features remarkable works by Rembrandt, including a self-portrait and a now-confirmed portrait of his son, Titus van Rijn. This exhibit showcased many more items from its collection and loans from other museums. The term “illusion” in the exhibition’s title primarily refers to Samuel van Hoogstraten, a student of Rembrandt, and his exceptional use of the trompe-l’oeil technique. Trompe-l’oeil, from French, “fools the eye,” is an art that typically uses architectural elements, light, and perspective to trick the viewer into seeing a three-dimensional image, even when rendered on a single plane. Hoogstraten was one of the most skilled practitioners of this technique. It remains among the canonical approaches to art. Most recently, the Metropolitan Museum of Art recently held an exhibition, “Cubism and the Trompe-l’oeil Tradition,” featuring works by Picasso and his contemporaries.

In the lead-up to the Vienna museum’s exhibit, the city’s Morris columns were adorned with posters, and large billboards were scattered throughout the city announcing the exhibit. There were three variations of these advertisements: one featuring a Rembrandt self-portrait and two “illusory” portraits, Rembrandt’s “Girl in the Window” and Hoogstraten’s “Old Man at a Window.” In Rembrandt’s painting, the girl gazes directly at the viewer, gripping the exterior window frame, with her fingers extending beyond it. Combined with Rembrandt’s unparalleled usage of light and color, the image is unsettlingly realistic, even when reproduced in books.

Hoogstraten’s painting, “Old Man at a Window,” depicts an old, wizened, bearded man, crowned with a round fur hat, seemingly poking his head out of the window like a gargoyle protruding from the building. While the exhibit’s advertisements are silent about the man’s identity, many Orthodox Jews might recognize him as R. Yom Tov Lipman Heller, the author of, among other works, the Tosefos Yom Tov commentary on the Mishna. Heller is associated with Vienna, having served as its Chief Rabbi in the early 17th century; however, art historians and Jewish scholars have conclusively shown the impossibility of this being an authentic representation of Heller. Nonetheless, much like the trompe l’oeil technique, the Old Man at a Window continues to deceive, and many still believe it is Heller.

Figure 1 Samuel Von Hoogstraten, Old Man at a Window, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Rabbi Heller’s Chronicle of Imprisonment & Redemption

Rabbi Yom Tov Lipman Heller was born in 1578 in Wallerstein, a small village in Southern Germany, home to around twenty Jewish families (Davis 21). As a teenager, he married into a prominent family in Prague. His perspicacity and deep knowledge were quickly recognized, and at 19, he was appointed to serve on the Prague Beis Din, overseeing the largest Jewish community in Christian Europe (Davis 25-33). A year later, he published his first book, a somewhat unusual choice for a traditional rabbinic scholar, a commentary on the philosophical work Behinas Olam. He subsequently authored dozens of books across varied genres, completing his magnum opus, Tosefos Yom Tov in Heshvan 1616 (Davis 225-231). His identity quickly became bound up with this work, and even on the epitaph of his daughters’ headstone from 1639, he is referred to by the book and not his given name (Muneles 321). (The book’s original title is Tosefes Yom Tov, and later Tosefos Yom Tov. While some posit that this change was first documented in 1653, it already appears on the epitaph. (cf. Haberman 125n1)). He also “left ample records of himself… books, letters, archival documents, responsa, poems, prayers, sermons, commentaries, and even a memoir” (Davis 1). Nevertheless, there are no surviving portraits or other images.

Rabbi Heller spent time in Vienna on two occasions. The first, in 1625, he was induced to leave Prague for Vienna’s chief rabbi position. Despite his short tenure of only two years, he scored a significant victory for the Viennese Jewish community. Until then, it was dispersed throughout the city, and Heller secured the right for the community to reside in a single area and strengthen its ties. That cohesion was shattered in 1670 when Emperor Leopold I expelled them (one of the many expulsions Viennese Jews suffered), and the area was renamed after its extirpator, Leopoldstadt. Prague, however, drew him back, and in 1627, he took on the role of chief rabbi there.

Just two years later, some of the city’s Jewish community bristled at his involvement in tax collection, accusing him of determining tax rates unfairly. In June 1629, they denounced him to the government, which resulted in his arrest and summons to Vienna. He recounts the events in his autobiographical work, Megilas Eivah—an allusion to the first letters of the first four words of Megilas Eicha, written between 1644 and 1648. Initially placed under house arrest, he was imprisoned on the 17th of Tammuz and confined in a common jail with prisoners awaiting execution. He was denied visitors and remained isolated, “no one could speak with him, even via the window.” Two days later, following appeals from the Jewish community, he was transferred to a special prison and granted visitation rights. After forty days, the community agreed to pay a substantial fine, and he was released, almost immediately departing for Prague, never to return to Vienna. By 1643, he arrived in Krakow, where he served as chief Rabbi until his death in 1654. 

Megilas Eivah circulated in various manuscripts but was published only in 1836 (Davis 228 n31). While its authenticity is beyond doubt, the additional section that first appeared in the Hebrew 1880 edition is considered a forgery. Allegedly written by Heller’s son Samuel, it “has a quality reminiscent of Dumas and The Three Musketeers: [Heller] saves a young woman from a bull, and her husband, the French ambassador, intercedes on behalf of Rabbi Yom-Tov.” In 1905, “Moritz Steinschneider identified the source as based on a short story written by Ludwig Philippson (1811‒89), a rabbi and journalist, and the author of a series of Jewish historical novelettes and stories for young readers” (Davis 146 n36).

Samuel van Hoogstraten, Master of Illusion

Samuel van Hoogstraten was born in Dordrecht, one of the oldest cities in the Netherlands, on August 2, 1627. He was the eldest child of the artist Dirk van Hoogstraten and Maeiken de Coninck. Samuel started his art studies with his father, continuing until his father passed away in 1640. Around 1642, Samuel moved to Amsterdam and began studying under Rembrandt. He rapidly proved himself to be a standout student, leading classes, reviewing his classmates’ work, and so effectively absorbing his teachers’ lessons, that some of his works were mistakenly attributed to Rembrandt (Brusati 16-31). As part of the preparation for the current exhibit, “Young Woman at an Open Half-Door” (1645) has been reassigned to Hoogstraten (Illes; Van Sloten 125).

In 1651, Samuel traveled to Vienna, the epicenter of power and prestige within the Hapsburg Empire, seeking to enhance his reputation and standing among elite society. He succeeded almost immediately. Samuel’s student, Arnold Houbraken, recounted how, on August 6, 1651, Samuel presented three of his paintings to the emperor. The first two were well received, but “the third piece,” in the trompe l’oeil style, was a still life that captivated the Emperor, who appeared to be completely taken by it. He looked at it for a long time and, finding himself still deceived, said, ‘This is the first painter who has deceived me.’ And he went on to say that he would not get the picture back as a punishment for that deception, for the Emperor wished to keep it forever.” (Houbraken 2:157-58). However, Samuel did not leave empty-handed. The Emperor awarded him an imperial medallion and a gold chain, which he took immense pride in; this would become a standard element in his subsequent self-portraits and among the items he viewed as symbolic of successful artists (Hoogstraten 371-72; Brusati 54).

Hoogstraten broadly characterized art as a form of deception. In his magnum opus on the theory of painting and color, Inleyding tot de hooge schoole der schilderkonst: anders de zichtbaere werelt (Introduction to the Academy of Painting; or, The Visible World), he describes what he considers the “perfect painting.” It “is like a mirror of nature; it makes things that are not there appear to exist and deceives in a permissible, pleasurable, and praiseworthy way” (Hoogstraten 79). One way to achieve this effect is by combining architectural elements such as open doors or windows and adding “some figures” to the composition, “by which many have been artfully deceived” (Hoogstraten 304). He takes pride in having accomplished this with his paintings completed in Vienna. One is “Old Man at a Window,” painted in 1653. (Brusati 65).

The Religious Conversion and Reversion of the Old Man at a Window 

The earliest catalogs describing the painting Old Man at a Window do not mention the man’s religious affiliation. It was not until the 19th century that two scholars suggested a Jewish connection, and even then, there was no mention of Heller. Nonetheless, this association never gained traction, and the painting continued to be described without any reference to Jews. We must wait until the 1950s for Heller’s connection to emerge. However, that link lacked any supporting evidence, leaving us in the dark about what prompted the change from an Old Man to Heller. Even that association was quickly dismissed due to the significant gap between when Heller was imprisoned and when Hoogstraten painted Old Man at a Window.

The 1653 painting is one of the first works by Hoogstraten that Emperor Charles II acquired for his castle in Prague, possibly commissioned specifically for him. The painting is described in detail in an early catalog:

No. 4. By Samuel van Hoogstraten. A lifelike, grey-bearded old man looks out of a window. His fur hat, the furrows on his face from his age, and his grey beard are so well painted that one believes one can see nature itself in each one. Hoogstraten, who did not only paint as a mere colorist, showed his deep insight into the subject and reflected light in the chiaroscuro and the deep and penetrating shadows. Just look at the head . . ., and you will find that in it, the master’s hand, which . . . expresses itself quite magnificently. The lead on the round window pane, the wooden frame, that is the glass frame, is also very well painted, but the window’s stone frame makes you believe entirely that it is the work of a mason, almost as if you can see the mason’s hand on it. The straw stalk lying on the window stone, the feather, and the bottle standing there are no less well-painted and serve to prove the excellence of the whole. This picture is painted on canvas, 3 feet 6 inches high, 2 feet and 9 inches wide. The head is life-size. The artist has engraved his monogram and the year 1653 on the window stone of this painting” (Rigler 163-164).

During the 17th century, two inventories were created for the collection. In both, the painting is described as “a man sticking his head out of the window through the shutter,” without any reference to the man’s religious affiliation or any connection to Rabbi Heller (Köpl clvnn330; Brusati 361n76). Hoogstraten’s Old Man at a Window was relocated to Vienna after the Habsburgs acquired the Belvedere Palace in the 1730s. The Palace is perhaps best known today for Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” and other notable Viennese Expressionists. In one of the earliest catalogs of the Belvedere by Christian van Mechel from 1783, the subject is referred to simply as a “grey-bearded man with a round fur hat on his head, looking out curiously from a window” (Mechel 84n4). That is how the description remained, unadorned with any religious identity until the 19^th century.

In the 19th century, two descriptions of the Old Man at a Window added his religion: he was a Jew. In 1839, German art historian Georg Rathgeber, in his study of Netherlandish art, asserts that “this picture’s title is “Böhmischen Juden,” “Bohemian Jew.’” Rathgeber disputes the identification not for its lack of historicity but because “the character of the facial features does not seem to correspond very well to” his antisemitic views on Jewish physiognomy (Rathgeber 147). Similarly, in 1861, French art critic Charles Blanc, in his encyclopedic work Histoire des Peintres de Toutes les Écoles, asserts that the Belvedere catalog now refers to the painting as “Un vieux juif (dit le Catalogue)” or “an old Jew (as it appears in the Catalog)” (Blanc 4). This portrait impressed Blanc and is among the few he reproduced in his discussion of Hoogstraten (Blanc 1). However, Blanc is notorious for identifying Jews in Rembrandt’s and his school’s works without any supporting evidence (Knotter and Schwartz 7-9). Contrary to the “catalog’s identification,” Blanc, like Rathgeber, asserts that the face “is not Israelite” (Blanc 2). Neither Blanc nor Rathgeber mentions Rabbi Heller.

Figure 2 Charles Blanc, Histoire des Peintres de Toutes les Écoles

Blanc’s and Rathgeber’s Jewish association did not take hold. For example, G.H. Veth, in his 1889 article discussing artists from Dordrecht, including Hoogstraten, cites Blanc and notes his reproduction of Old Man. However, Veth describes it without mentioning any Jewish connections (Veth 145). Similarly, a 1903 tour guidebook of Vienna confirms that at the Belvedere, the painting’s title remains unchanged as “Old Man at a Window” (Baedeker 73; cf. Gerson, 282).

Despite the absence of objective evidence and the dismissal of Blanc’s and Rathgeber’s 19th-century Semitic connection, one scholar in the 1950s cryptically associated Rabbi Heller with Hoogstraten’s painting. Margarethe Poch-Kalous, the head of the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna (Akademie der bildenden Künste in Wien), in her 1959 survey of Dutch art in Vienna, refers to the figure as “ein bärtiger alter Mann (Rabbi Heller),” “a bearded old man (Rabbi Heller)” (Poch-Kalous 198). The basis for her identification is opaque. Poch-Kalous’ two citations offer no support; neither mentions Heller nor suggests that the figure is even Jewish, nor does she reference Blanc or Rathgeber (Poch-Kalous 198 citing Engerth 207n928 and Köpl clvnn330).

Oddly, unlike other personalities, artists, and subjects discussed in her article, which consistently include personal names and birth and death dates, Poch-Kalous provides nothing beyond “Rabbi Heller.” This is especially puzzling for an article in the Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorische Sammlungen, whose readership is unlikely to be sufficiently familiar with the history of 17th-century Bohemian rabbis to provide the missing details.

Whatever the basis for Poch-Kalous’s connection between Hoogstraten’s painting and Heller, it was swiftly dismissed. In 1972, Klaus Demus, the art historian and curator at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, demonstrated that it was impossible for Heller to be the model. He explains that Heller was imprisoned in 1629, and by 1644, he was serving as a rabbi in Krakow, where he remained until his death in 1654. Hoogstraten, who was only two years old when Heller was imprisoned in Vienna, painted Old Man at a Window in 1653, long after Heller had left Vienna (Demus 47-48). Today, the Kunsthistorisches Museum’s website alludes to Poch-Kalous’ attribution and rejection: “According to a tradition that is now presumed to be mistaken, the man is Rabbi Yom Tov Lipmann Heller.” Hoogstraten’s “deception” and “illusion” did not extend to rendering persons he never saw.

Illustrious Jews and Illusionary Jewish Sources

Jewish sources similarly are not more persuasive in linking Heller to Hoogstraten’s painting. Generally, rabbinic portraits prior to the 19th century lack authenticity (Cohen), and Heller is no exception. Most of the few early verifiable images exist as frontispieces in books rather than as paintings, and none depict Eastern European rabbis. Heller’s image first appears in Jewish sources in the early twentieth century. It depicts an old man, yet he is completely different from Hoogstraten’s version. The first instance of Heller masquerading as the Old Man at a Window is over a decade after Demus debunks that theory!

Figure 3 Bader, Drasig Doyres, 175

The first Jewish source of an alleged portrait of Rabbi Heller appears in a Yiddish collection of stories and hagiographies of rabbis in Gerson Bader’s Drasig Doyres Yiden in Poylen, published in 1927 (Bader 175). Bader’s depiction of Rabbi Heller does not resemble the individual shown in Hoogstraten. Bader claims that his source is an “old drawing,” yet he does not provide any further details, such as where or when it was published.

Bader’s book features other alleged rabbinic images from “old drawings” that are demonstratably false. For example, Bader’s portrait of R. Aaron Shmuel Kaidanover, author of the Birkas ha-Zevach on Kodshim, is of the Karaite and forger Avraham Firkovich (1787-1875) (Bader 185). It is undoubtedly Firkovich, as it appears in his Avnei Zikaron, published in 1872, during his lifetime. Similarly, Bader misattributes Joseph Delmedigo’s (1591-1655) portrait from the frontispiece of his Sefer Elim (Amsterdam, 1629), and the photo of R. Shmuel Salant by Zadok Bassan, assigning them to alternative rabbinic figures (Bader 204, 321). Nonetheless, Bader’s depiction of Heller was often reproduced, to the extent that in a 2000 biography of Heller, it is referred to as “iyur amimi nafuts shel ha-Tosefos Yom Tov,” “the widespread folk image of the Tosefos Yom Tov” (Herskovics 32).

Figure 4 Bader, Drasig Doyres Yiden in Poylen, 175.

Figure 5 Firkovich, Avnei Zikhron, From the Gross Family Collection, The Center for Jewish Art

It was only in 1984 that a Jewish source connected the Hoogstraten painting to Rabbi Heller. The cover of the book The Feast and the Fast: The Dramatic Personal Story of Yom Tov Lipman Heller, a translation of Megilas Eivah, depicts Rabbi Heller in prison and is modeled on the figure in the Hoogstraten painting. To eliminate any doubt about the source of the cover art, the back of the book features reproductions of title pages from Heller’s works and his gravestone, along with a photo “of the drawing in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria, entitled ‘Man at the Window’ (1653) by Samuel Van Hoogstraten (1627-1678)” (Lipschitz and Rosenstein). A similar image was used for the cover illustration of another translation of Megilas Eivah published in 1991 (Heller). The English section of the 2000 biography of Heller reproduces the cover of The Feast and the Fast, describing it as “featuring a picture of the Tosefot Yom Tov” (Herskovics 101). However, it does not attempt to reconcile this image with the clearly different “widespread folk image” presented in the Hebrew section of the biography. Although not mentioned in any of these sources, they were presumably misled by the bars on the window. However, those are not prison bars; rather, as was common in that era, the windows were supported by these architectural elements (Hermans 249).

Figure 6 Cover, Feast and the Fast, 1984

By 1999, however, Jewish sources also recognized the impossibility of associating Heller with the painting. R Ya’akov Yeruchum Wreschner republished Megilas Eivah based on four editions and two manuscripts and includes a comprehensive introduction regarding Heller. In two footnotes within the introduction, Wreschner briefly addresses Heller’s connection, or lack thereof, to Old Man at a Window. Like Demas, Wreschner contends that the nearly twenty-five-year gap between Heller’s departure from Vienna and Hoogstraten’s painting of Old Man renders it impossible for Heller to have been the model. Wreschner asks rhetorically, how could Hoogstraten “paint Rabbenu [Heller] when he never set eyes on him?” (Wreschner Megilas 48n3). Wreschner also contacted the Kunsthistorisches Museum and received a response confirming that “not only is it not the Rabbi, but it is not even a Jew” (Wreschner Megilas 17n4). As a result, Wreschner refused to reproduce that portrait in his book. Similarly, despite being titled Portrait of a Seventeenth-Century Rabbi, the most recent academic biography of Heller by Joseph Davis includes neither the Hoogstraten portrait nor any other image of Heller (Davis).

In 2024, Wreschner published a significantly revised and retitled edition of his book. Despite discrediting Heller’s connection to the painting over twenty years ago, various Jewish books, newspapers, and other ephemera continue to publish Old Man at a Window and link it to Heller (e.g., Alfasi 137; Stern 184-86; Berman). Wreschner was, therefore, compelled to revisit the painting, presenting additional arguments and greater detail regarding his discussions with the Kunsthistorisches Museum.

Wreschner, in 1999, first spoke telephonically with the Director of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Dr. Karl Schütz, who confirmed that the painting was not connected to Heller. Schütz followed up with a letter detailing the sources for his rejection. Schütz stated that, with one exception, from the earliest catalogs to contemporary analyses of the painting, it was never associated with any specific individual, Jewish or otherwise. This is consistent with Hoogstraten’s intent, showcasing the trompe l’oeil technique rather than portraiture. The only time it appears – in Demus’s “detailed catalog of Dutch painters from 1972”—is solely to repudiate Poch-Kalous’s chronologically impossible and otherwise undocumented connection to Heller. Schütz also discredited the claim that following the Anschluss, the painting was categorized as Jewish art and consigned to the museum’s basement. On the contrary, a coterminous catalog lists the painting among those on display.

Despite Wreschner’s certitude about Schütz’s rejection, for unclear reasons, Wreschner attributes an otherwise unrecorded episode to Schütz. This alleged event appears to offer some support for linking Heller to the painting, but it is completely absent from the letter. According to Wreschner, the letter references an event in 1972 when an unidentified Jew approached the museum and claimed there was “a tradition that it was Tosefos Yom Tov” (Wreschner 2024, 24-26). The museum expressed skepticism about that tradition but did not completely dismiss it. In Wreschner’s retelling, it suggested the possibility that “a Jew conjured up Heller’s image and Hoogstraten copied it.” The actual text of the letter directly contradicts Wreschner’s account. Schütz references 1972 not as the date of an important meeting that supports the “legend” but as the first substantial discussion – by Demus – and his definitive rebuttal without mentioning a meeting with the Jew.

Beyond Schütz’s letter, Wreschner adds internal reasons why the painting cannot depict Heller in jail. The window is large enough for the man to stick his head out and features high-quality glass, an uncommon design for a prison. Furthermore, the expensive fur hat worn by the Man at a Window is an unlikely accessory in a prison housing hardened criminals sentenced to death and an incongruous headpiece for the July heat when Heller was imprisoned. Wreschner could have included another element in the painting that contrasts with a prison – the wall behind the Old Man has patterned wallpaper.

Following his earlier edition, Wreschner learned of an earlier source linking Heller to the painting, which is summarily dismissed. R. Shimon Fuerst, who lived in Vienna before 1940, in his book, Shem mi-Shimon, published in 1967, recalls visiting the museum where he saw firsthand “the painting made during the imprisonment” (Fuerst 426). Wreschner is unmoved by Fuerst’s identification. First, Fuerst was not an expert on Heller. Fuerst writes that Heller left Vienna to assume the Chief Rabbi position in Krakow, which is false. After his release, Heller returned to Prague, only leaving for Krakow fifteen years later. Aside from this obvious mistake, Fuerst’s opinion is irrelevant. Wreschner does not dispute Fuerst’s rabbinic bona fides, yet he is not an art historian. When faced with questions of rabbinic law, we defer to rabbis, but, according to Wreschner, “when it comes to questions of attribution of art, we look to experts in that field” (Wreschner 2024, 26). Regardless of the reliability of Fuerst’s claim, the mystery of Poche-Kalous’ source remains unsolved as her work predates Fuerst’s by four years.

Going Once, Twice, Three Times – Sold!

The identification of Heller with the Old Man at a Window is not the first, nor likely the last portrait erroneously attributed to a well-known Jew. One such example is the “traditional” portrait of the founder of the Hassidic movement, R Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov. This portrait depicts a Ba’al Shem, a Wonderworker, but not Yisrael; rather, it is of Ya’akov Falk of London (Oron). He was an alchemist and an eccentric, and according to R Ya’akov Emden, a crypto-Sabbatian. However, evidence does not always prevail. Books and numerous sukkah decorations continue to utilize this portrait.

There is even another Hoogstraten portrait that falls into this category. A 1670 Hoogstraten portrait now in the Jewish Museum in New York was previously associated with Baruch (Bento, Benedictus) Spinoza. This is just one of many alleged portraits of Spinoza. Yet, most, if not all, lack independent verification or directly contradict the existing evidence (Ekkart). Indeed, “It is the same with the portraits as with so many other aspects of Spinoza’s life: little can be said with any certainty” (qtd. in Ekkart 25). This portrait was first linked to Spinoza in 1929, partly based on “a slip of paper on the back bearing the scholar’s name” (Ekkart 5). It is unclear who made that determination or even when the paper was inserted into the back of the painting. Consequently, the Jewish Museum now describes the painting as “Portrait of a Man (previously thought to be Baruch Spinoza).”

Similarly, despite art historians and Jewish sources resoundingly rejecting Heller’s connection to the Old Man at a Window, it seems unlikely that the idea of Hoogstraten depicting Heller will be dislodged in the collective Jewish consciousness. The attribution is so deeply ingrained that someone spent a staggering $120,000 before fees on a late 19th-century reproduction of Hoogstraten’s painting.

Figure 7 Lot 318, Kestenbaum Auctions, March 12, 2014

In 2014, the American Judaica auction house Kestenbaum & Company listed an 1887 painting described as “Yom Tov Lipman Heller, Portrait: Imprisoned in Vienna,” with a $12,000-$18,000 estimate. The portrait also served as the front cover image of the catalog. It is described as “the celebrated portrait of the Tosefos Yom Tov” and claims that Hoogstraten “painted Rabbi Heller in 1653 and entitled it ‘Old Man in the Window.’” The catalog warns that “it is not known if van Hoogstraten ever met or saw [Heller]; however, it is likely that he was aware of the Rembrandt (School) painting of 1643 entitled ‘Portrait of an Old Jew’ (today in the National Gallery of Denmark) – where a similar, bearded Jewish man, with head cocked, looks emotively at the viewer.” Scholars acknowledge that elements of Man at a Window and other Hoogstraten paintings evoke “the face studies of costumed figures routinely produced in Rembrandt’s studio,” but this does not transform the man into a Jew, let alone Rabbi Heller. The Jewish identification of the painting in the National Gallery of Denmark is also of questionable relevance. Some aspects of that painting, most notably the chain around the man’s neck, make it highly unlikely that it depicts a Jew (Alexander-Knotter 80-81). The catalog’s only citation for attributing the subject to Heller is the 1984 book, The Fast and the Feast, mentioned earlier. It does not reference Demus’ or Wreschner’s discussions that challenge that attribution. 

The significance assigned to the artistic rendition of the original is also debatable. The 1887 reproduction bears the signature of the artist “Paul Krüger.” However, Krüger was not a recognized artist; instead, it was a commercial reproduction company in Vienna that commonly attached its labels to the works. Its full name is “Paul Krüger Atelier für Porträtmalerei in Wien” (Paul Krüger Studio for Portrait Painting in Vienna). The studio functioned in the late 19th century and reproduced numerous paintings from the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Today, for those wanting to display a similar commercial reproduction of the painting on their wall, it is available through many websites that specialize in creating highly accurate copies of famous artworks. One such site offers a hand-painted version, almost the exact size of the original, with a similar frame, for about $1,400.

If the buyer had waited a year, they could have acquired an earlier reproduction by a recognized and significant artist. On May 18, 2015, Ferdinand Waldmüller’s (1793-1865) painting “Old Man at the Window,” modeled after Hoogstraten and executed in 1819, was auctioned with an estimate of €22,400 to €28,000. Unlike Krüger’s shop, which served as a commercial entity, Waldmüller is regarded as one of “the most important Austrian painters of the Biedermeier period.” Nevertheless, the lot remained unsold.

The Krüger copy may not be the best reproduction, but the auction catalog description proved worthwhile for reproduction. Rabbi Moshe Bamberger is the author of a series of books on “Great Jewish” items published by Artscroll. One book focuses on letters, another on important Jewish books, and another titled Great Jewish Treasures, is “A Collection of Precious Judaica, Associated with Torah Leaders.” This work contains a chapter dedicated to “Artwork” that discusses some well-known examples of rabbinic images. He ably covers several of these topics and discusses the traditional portrayal of Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov, accurately aligning it with London’s Ba’al Shem, Jacob Falk.

Bamberger also includes a section focused on the “famous depiction of Rabbi Yom Tov Lipmann Heller (1579-1654) peering through the window of his prison cell” and reproduces a version of the Hoogstraten painting. Bamberger tries to reconcile the inconsistency between the dates of imprisonment and the time when Hoogstraten painted Old Man. Bamberger’s source is the auction catalog, yet he seems to disagree with one item: which of Rembrandt’s “Jews” Hoogstraten supposedly used as a model for Heller. Rather than the 1643 “Portrait of an Old Jew” attributed to Rembrandt’s school and currently housed in the National Gallery of Denmark; according to Bamberger, the model was the subject of a painting by Rembrandt, also titled “Portrait of an Old Jew,” now held in the Hermitage Museum in Leningrad. Bamberger does not provide a rationale for selecting the Hermitage painting over the one in the National Gallery. Nevertheless, the Hermitage painting is equally unlikely to depict a Jew and is now referred to generically as “Man in an Armchair.” (Schwartz 371-373). Ironically, Bamberger’s use of the Hermitage painting only reinforces the unlikelihood that Heller served as a model for Hoogstraten. The Hermitage Rembrandt originates from 1654, one year after “Old Man in a Window.” Hoogstraten certainly did not use a nonexistent painting to model his artistic expression.

Whether we will ever fully explicate to our satisfaction the enigmatic history of Hoogstraten’s 1653 painting Old Man at a Window, Hoogstraten’s masterful execution of the Trompe l’oeil technique makes the painting worth seeking out on its own. The exhibition closed in Vienna on January 12, 2025, but relocated to Rembrandt House in Amsterdam, “The Illusionist. Samuel van Hoogstraten,” from February 1 to May 4, 2025. The Amsterdam exhibition is entirely dedicated to Hoogstraten. To accompany the Vienna exhibit, the Kunsthistorisches Museum published a collection of articles titled Rembrandt Hoogstraten: Colour and Illusion, edited by Dr. Sabine Pénot, the Curator of Netherlandish and Dutch Paintings at the museum. This book is of excellent quality, beautifully reproducing many of the exhibit’s paintings and etchings. One article is a detailed study of Hoogstraten’s process and technique in Old Man at a Window (Hermens). While it employs various infrared and other technologies to uncover what lies beneath the surface, no rabbi is lurking behind the layers of paint.

* I want to thank Dr. Shnayer Leiman for bringing to my attention Gershom Bader as the earliest source of Heller’s representation within Jewish sources. I also wish to thank Professor Marc Michael Epstein, Professor Marc Shapiro, Dr. Lara Lempertienė, and Menachem Butler for their thorough review of the draft and invaluable feedback, Dr. Sabine Pénot for scouring the Kunsthistorisches Museum’s collection for information regarding Heller’s link to the painting, and Shaul Seidler-Feller for his expertise in translating Yiddish. Additionally, I am grateful to Rabbi Yaakov Yeruchum Wreschner for sharing his correspondence with the Kunsthistorisches Museum, and, as always, Eliezer Brodt, whose enviable encyclopedic knowledge, which he freely shares, ensured I did not overlook crucial materials.

Sources:

Alexander-Knotter, Mirjam, et al. The ‘Jewish’ Rembrandt, The Myth Unraveled. Waanders Publishers/Jewish Historical Museum, [2006].

Bader, Gershom. Drasyig Doyres Yiden in Poylen. Oriom Press, 1927.

Bamberger, Moshe. Great Jewish Treasures. Artscroll, 2015.

Blanc, Charles. Histoire des Peintres de Toutes les Écoles, vol. 2, “Samuel van Hoogstraten”. Paris, 1861.

Brusati, Celeste. Artifice and Illusion: The Art and Writing of Samuel Van Hoogstraten. University of Chicago Press, 1995.

Cohen, Richard I. Jewish Icons: Art and Society in Modern Europe. California UP, 1998.

Davis, Joseph M. Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller: Portrait of a Seventeenth-Century Rabbi. Littman Library of Civilization, 2004.

Demus, Klaus. Friderike. Katalog der Gemäldegalerie: Holländische Meister des 15., 16., und 17. Jahrhunderts. Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1972.

Ekkart, Rudi. Spinoza in Beeld: Het onbekende gezicht/Spinoza in Portrait: The Unknown Face. Amsterdam Vereniging het Spinozahuis, 1999.

Engerth, Eduard van. Gemälde Beschreibendes Verzeirchness, vol. 2. 1884.

Gerson, Horst. Ausbreitung und Nachwirkung der holländischen Malerei des 17. Jahrhunderts. De erven F. Bohn n. v, 1942.

Haberman, A.M. “Piyutav ve-shirav shel R. Yom Tov Lipman Heller.” Le-Kovod Yom Tov, edited by Judah Leib Maimon. Mosad HaRav Kook, 1956, pp. 125-145.

Heller, Yom Tov Lipmann. A Chronicle of Hardship and Hope. Translated by Avraham Yaakov Finkel, C.I.S. Publishers, 1991.

Hermens, Erma, et al. “Samuel van Hoogstraten’s Illusionistic Paintings for Emperor Ferdinand III – Two Case Studies.” Rembrandt Hoogstraten: Colour and Illusion, edited by Sabine Pénot. Hannibal, 2025, pp. 232-51.

Herskovics, Mayer. Two Guardians of the Faith: The History and Distinguished Lineage of Rabbi Yom Tov Lipman Heller and Rabbi Areyeh Leib Heller. Graphit Press, 2000.

Hoogstraten, Samuel Van. Introduction to the Academy of Painting; or, The Visible World. Edited by Celeste Brusati and Translation by Jaap Jacobs. Getty Research Institute, 2021.

Illes, Angelina. “List of Works.” Rembrandt Hoogstraten: Colour and Illusion, edited by Sabine Pénot. Hannibal, 2025, 258.

Knotter, Mirjam, and Gary Schwartz, editors. Rembrandt Seen Through Jewish Eyes: The Artist’s Meaning to Jews from His Time to Ours. Amsterdam UP, 2024.

Lipschitz Chaim Uri, and Neil Rosenstein, The Feast and the Fast: The Dramatic Personal Story of Yom Tov Lipman Heller. Moriah, 1984.

Mechel, Christian van. Verzeichniß der Gemälde der Kaiserlich Königlichen Bilder-Gallerie in Wien, Vienna, 1783.

Oron, Michal. Rabbi, Mystic, or Imposter. Translated by Edward Levin. Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2020.

Poch-Kalous, Margarethe. “Das Legat Wolfgang van Wurzbach-Tannenberg an die Gemäldegalerie der Akademie der bildenden Künste in Wien,” in Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien vol. 55, 1959.

Rathgerber, Georg. Annalen der Niederländischen Malerei und Kupferstecherkunst: Van Rubens Abreise nach Italien bis auf Rembrandt’s Tod. Gotha, 1839.

Rigler, Hieronumus. “Beschreibung und Beurtheilung verschiedener Gemälde der S.S. Bildergalerie in Belvedere van Hieronymus Rigler aus dessen 1783 herausgegebenen, ausser Wien wenig bekannten und bereits geendigten mächentlichen Anzeigen van Künstlern und Kunstsachen,” in Miscellaneen artistischen Innhalts, 21, 1784, pp. 158-177.

Schwartz, Gary. The Rembrandt Book. Abrams, 2006.

Stern, Yechiel Michel. Gedoli Ha-Doros. Minchas Yisrael, 1996.

Van Sloten, Leonore and David de Witt. “Challenged by Rembrandt,” in Samuel van Hoogstraten, The Illusionist. Edited by Nathalie Maciesza and Epco Runia. WBOOKS, 2025.

Wreschner, J. Megilat Eivah le-Ba’al Ha-TY”T.  [], Jerusalem, 1999.

Wreschner, J. Ha-Tosefos Yom Tov u-Megilaso. [], Beni Brak, 2024.

Appendix:

Hoogstraten’s painting was copied and reinterpreted multiple times, with variations in style and even gender. (See Brusati 361, which discusses two copies in royal collections.)

A few more examples:

A more compact version with a whiter and shaped bear is attributed to a Dutch painter of Hoogstraten’s school and possibly one of the versions mentioned by Brusati.

Described as 18^th Century Flemish School, without identification of a specific artist, sold for CHF 800.

Two versions: a man that is a crude likeness of Old Man in a Window and a woman wearing a linen cap sold for $2,000.

An alternative version of a woman was painted by Josef Hauzinger, (1726-1787), currently at the Pushkin Museum in Moscow. A later version of this rendering appeared at auction in 2022.

Another example of a woman at the window is a 1936 Picasso painting.

When Rabbi Meir Kahane’s Father Translated the Torah

By Yosef Lindell

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

In 1962, the Jewish Publication Society published a new translation of the Torah. The product of nearly a decade of work, the new edition was the first major English translation to cast off the shackles of the 1611 King James Bible. Dr. Harry Orlinsky, the primary force behind the new translation and a professor of Bible at the merged Reform Hebrew Union College and Jewish Institute of Religion, explained that even JPS’ celebrated 1917 translation was merely a King James lookalike, a modest revision of the Revised Standard Version that “did not exceed more than a very few percent of the whole.”[1] This new edition was different. As the editors wrote in the preface, the King James not only “had an archaic flavor,” but it rendered the Hebrew “word for word rather than idiomatically,” resulting in “quaintness or awkwardness and not infrequently in obscurity.”[2] Now, for the first time, the editors translated wholly anew, jettisoning literalism for maximum intelligibility. More than sixty years later, JPS’ work remains one of the definitive English translations of the Torah.

The new JPS may have left the King James behind, but it didn’t satisfy everyone. In addition to making the Torah more intelligible, the editors incorporated the insights of modern biblical scholarship, both from “biblical archeology and in the recovery of the languages and civilizations of the peoples among whom the Israelites lived and whose modes of living and thinking they largely shared.”[3] So when asked by Rabbi Theodore Adams, the president of the Rabbinical Council of America, whether the RCA could accept an invitation from Dr. Solomon Grayzel, JPS’ publisher, to participate in the new translation, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik demurred. He wrote in a 1953 letter to Adams, “I am afraid that the purpose of this undertaking is not to infuse the spirit of Torah she-be-al peh into the new English version but, on the contrary, … to satisfy the so-called modern ‘scientific’ demands for a more exact rendition in accordance with the latest archeological and philological discoveries.”[4]

Just one year after JPS released its volume, in 1963, R. Soloveitchik’s wish for a more “Torah-true” translation was answered, but likely not in the way he expected. The two-volume Torah Yesharah published by Rabbi Charles Kahane (1905-1978) relies heavily on traditional Jewish commentary in its translation.[5] But as we’ll explore, because of its lack of fidelity to the Hebrew text, it can hardly be called a translation at all.

Here is the title page (courtesy of the Internet Archive):

The strategically placed dots on the title page indicate that Yesharah is an acronym for the author’s Hebrew name—Yechezkel Shraga Hakohen. R. Charles Kahane was born in Safed and received semichah from the Pressburg Yeshiva in Hungary. After immigrating to the United States in 1925 and receiving a second semichah from Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, he served as rabbi of Congregation Shaarei Tefiloh in Brooklyn for most of his professional career, a shul which drew over 2,000 worshippers for the High Holidays.[6] He was a founding member of the Vaad Harabbanim of Flatbush and helped Rabbi Avraham Kalmanowitz re-establish the Mir Yeshiva in Brooklyn. Today, however, he is known as the father of Meir Kahane, the radical and controversial Jewish power activist and politician who needs no further introduction. The father does not seem to have been directly involved in his son’s activities, but he took pride in Meir’s accomplishments and was a staunch supporter of the Irgun in Palestine, Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s Revisionist Zionist movement, and Jabotinsky’s youth group, Betar.[7]

R. Kahane told the New York Times that Torah Yesharah was inspired by Bible classes he gave to his adult congregants where many people did not understand the text even in translation.[8] (Recall that the new JPS translation was not yet available, and other English translations relied on the archaic King James.) He wanted to rectify this problem; indeed, the title page states that the work is a “traditional interpretive translation,” suggesting that it was intended to be more user-friendly. But calling it user-friendly does not do justice to what Kahane did. Here is most of Bereishit 22—the passage of Akedat Yitzchak:

Most translators try to approximate the meaning of the Hebrew. Not so R. Kahane. Nearly every single English verse here contains significant additions not found in the original. The first verse, for example, which states that the Akedah was meant to punish Avraham for making a treaty with Avimelech, follows the opinion of the medieval commentator Rashbam, who, notes that the words “and it was after these things” connect the Akedah to the previous episode—the treaty with Avimelech (Rashbam, Bereishit 22:1). But it’s hard to imagine that Rashbam, famous for his devotion to peshat—plain meaning—would have been comfortable with his explanation being substituted for the translation itself. Many other verses on this page provide additions from Rashi and other commentators. 

Pretty much every page of R. Kahane’s translation looks similar: Hebrew on one side and an expansive interpretive translation drawn from the classical commentators on the other. Kahane makes no effort to distinguish between the literal meaning of the Hebrew and his interpretive gloss.[9] Dr. Philip Birnbaum, the famed siddur and machzor translator, criticizes this aspect of the work in his (Hebrew) review, noting that Kahane’s interpretations are written “as if they are an inseparable part of the Hebrew source, and the simple reader who doesn’t know the Holy Tongue will end up mistakenly thinking that everything written in ‘Torah Yesharah’ is written in ‘Torat Moshe.’”[10]

To be fair, R. Kahane cites sources for his interpretations, but only at the back of each book of the Torah and only in Hebrew shorthand:

Thus, a reader not already fluent in Hebrew and the traditional commentaries would have little idea where Kahane was drawing his “translation” from and might not grasp how much the translation departed from the Hebrew original.[11]

Yet perhaps this was the point. R. Kahane considered literal translation to be illegitimate. In the preface to Torah Yesharah, Kahane contrasts Targum Onkelos, which is celebrated by the Sages, with the Septuagint translation of the Torah into Greek, which the Sages mourned. Kahane suggests that a Targum, which is an interpretation or commentary, is superior to a direct translation. Targum Onkelos, he writes, was composed under the guidance of the Sages and based on the Oral Law, and therefore it was “sanctified.” According to Kahane, “The Torah cannot and must never be translated literally, without following the Oral interpretation as given to Moses on Sinai. … It is in this spirit that the present translation-interpretation has been written.”[12]

Kahane was not the only Orthodox rabbi of his time to criticize translation unfaithful to rabbinic interpretation. We’ve already noted R. Soloveitchik’s concerns about the new JPS.[13] Similarly, the encyclopedist Rabbi Judah David Eisenstein reported that in 1913, when JPS was preparing its initial translation, Rabbi Chaim Hirschenson of Hoboken, NJ, convinced the Agudath Harabbanim to protest JPS’ efforts so the new work should not become the “official” translation of English-speaking Jewry the way the King James had become the official translation of the Church of England. The Agudath Harabbanim noted the Sages’ disapproval of the Septuagint and explained that only Targum Onkelos and traditional commentators that based themselves on the Talmud were officially sanctioned.[14]

R. Kahane’s approach also harks back to a series of articles in Jewish Forum composed in 1928 by Rabbi Samuel Gerstenfeld, a rosh yeshiva at RIETS (a young Rabbi Gerstenfeld is pictured below), attacking the original 1917 JPS translation. Gerstenfeld labeled the JPS translation Conservative and sought to demonstrate its departure from Orthodoxy by comprehensively cataloging all the places where the translation departed from the halakhic understanding of the verse. So, for example, he criticizes JPS for translating the tachash skins used in the construction of the Mishkan as “seal skins,” because according to halachic authorities, non-kosher animal hides cannot be used for a sacred purpose.[15] He believed that the word tachash should be transliterated, but not translated.[16] Gerstenfeld concludes that the JPS translators “missed a Moses—a Rabbi well versed in Talmud and Posekim, who would have been vigilant against violence to the Oral Law.”[17]

Still, R. Kahane’s interpretive translation with additions goes far beyond what R. Gerstenfeld was suggesting. To give one example: Gerstenfeld quibbles with JPS’ translation of the words ve-yarka befanav in the chalitzah ceremony (Devarim 25:9). The 1917 JPS translates that the woman should “spit in his face” (referring to the man who refuses to perform yibbum). Gerstenfeld notes that rabbinic tradition unanimously holds that the woman spits on the ground. He suggests that “and spit in his presence” would be a better translation.[18] Gerstenfeld’s suggestion is reasonably elegant—it gives space for the rabbinic reading without negating the meaning of the Hebrew. Kahane makes no such attempt to be literal, instead translating that she will “spit on the ground in front of his face.”[19] As we’ve seen, Kahane had no compunctions about adding words.

Thus, there is no English-language precedent for Torah Yesharah of which I am aware. As the preface suggests, R. Kahane was inspired by the Aramaic targumim, but it would seem more by Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel than Targum Onkelos. Onkelos translates word-for-word in most circumstances, typically departing from the Hebrew’s literal meaning to address theological concerns, such as a discomfort with anthropomorphism. Targum Yonatan, on the other hand, seamlessly weaves many midrashic additions into its translation and looks more like Torah Yesharah. For example, at the beginning of the Akedah passage, Targum Yonatan goes on a lengthy excursus suggesting that God’s command to sacrifice Yitzchak was in response to a debate between Yitzchak and Yishmael where Yitzchak boasted that he would be willing to offer himself to God. This digression is akin to Kahane’s addition of the Rashbam into his translation. If anything, Targum Yonatan is more expansive than Torah Yesharah.

Torah Yesharah received a fair amount of press upon its publication. It was even reviewed by the New York Times, which called it “[a] new and unusual translation” that was intended to make the Torah “more meaningful to Americans.” The article quoted Rabbi Dr. Immanuel Jakobovits, then the rabbi of the Fifth Avenue Synagogue in Manhattan (before he became Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom), as calling it “an original enterprise” and “a most specifically Jewish rendering of the Torah.” While the Times was noncommittal about the work, a critical review in the Detroit Jewish News found Kahane’s language confusing and inferior to the new JPS translation published the prior year.[20] As for Dr. Birnbaum, he praised Torah Yesharah’s reliance on traditional Jewish interpretations and lamented the fact that most other biblical translations “were borrowed from the Christians from the time of Shakespeare,” but criticized the format (as noted above) and some of Kahane’s more tendentious translations.[21]

Despite the interest Torah Yesharah generated, its unique approach was not replicated. One might see echoes of R. Kahane in a better known translation—ArtScroll’s 1993 Stone Edition Chumash. As its editors explained in its preface, the “volume attempts to render the text as our Sages understood it.”[22] To this end, ArtScroll famously follows Rashi when translating “because the study of Chumash has been synonymous with Chumash-Rashi for nine centuries,”[23] even when Rashi is at variance with more straightforward readings of the text. Thus, for example, ArtScroll translates az huchal likro be-shem hashem (Genesis 4:26) based on Rashi as, “Then to call in the name of Hashem became profaned”—a reference to the beginnings of idol worship.[24] However, a more literal translation would run, “Then people began to call in the name of God,” which sounds like a reference to sincere prayer—the opposite of idolatry. It’s also well-known that ArtScroll declines to translate Shir Ha-Shirim literally, adapting Rashi’s allegorical commentary in place of translation.

On the other hand, ArtScroll’s overall approach is different than Torah Yesharah’s. ArtScroll is typically quite literal, translating word-for-word even when the syntax of the verse suffers as a result. An example from the Akedah is again relevant: va-yar ve-hinei ayil achar ne’echaz ba-sevach be-karnav (Genesis 22:13). ArtScroll’s translation, that Abraham “saw—behold, a ram!—afterwards, caught in the thicket,”[25] is awkward, but it preserves the word achar in the precise location that it appears in the Hebrew. When ArtScroll wants to highlight more traditional interpretations of the text in line with Chazal and others, it does so in the commentary, not in the translation itself.[26]

Two recent works—the Koren Steinsaltz Humash (2018) and the Chabad Kehot Chumash (2015)—are much closer to Torah Yesharah in that they insert commentary directly into the English translation. But they still differ in an important respect. Both the Steinsaltz—which is a translation of a Hebrew Humash based on the classes of Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz—and the Kehot “interpolate” a good deal of commentary into the translation (the former is more peshat based and the latter leans more on Rashi and Midrash). Nevertheless, they distinguish between what’s literal and what’s added by using bold font for the literal translation. This approach still has its downsides, as it can still be hard to read the English cleanly without the added gloss getting in the way of the literal meaning.[27] But it’s preferable to Torah Yesharah, where R. Kahane did not provide the reader any means of distinguishing between the text and his additions.

Today, Torah Yesharah is but a historical curiosity. Yet its existence highlights the fact that some mid-20th century Orthodox Jews felt a real need for a translation that followed in the footsteps of Chazal and other traditional commentators. To them, JPS’ translation did not embrace an authentic Torah approach. Before ArtScroll came on the scene, Torah Yesharah filled that niche for a time, but its unusual format blurred the line between the Word of God and the words of His interpreters.

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

[1] Harry M. Orlinsky, “The New Jewish Version of the Torah: Toward a New Philosophy of Bible Translation,” Journal of Biblical Literature 82:3 (1963): 251.
[2] The Torah: The Five Books of Moses (The Jewish Publication Society, 1962), Preface.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications (Nathaniel Helfgot, ed., KTAV, 2005), 110.
[5] Charles Kahane, ed., Torah Yesharah (Torah Yesharah Publication: Solomon Rabinowitz Book Concern, NY, 1963).
[6] To the New York Times, Kahane described the shul as “progressive Orthodox,” and it likely lacked a mechitzah. See Robert I. Friedman, The False Prophet: Rabbi Meir Kahane (Lawrence Hill Books, 1990), 20. That, however, was not unusual for those times.
[7] The biographical information in this paragraph is drawn from Friedman (see previous note) and Libby Kahane, Rabbi Meir Kahane: His Life and Thought (Institute for the Publication of the Writings of Rabbi Meir Kahane, 2008).
[8] Richard F. Shepard, “Rabbi Publishes New Bible Study; Works on Early Scholars Are Reinterpreted,” New York Times (June 21, 1964), 88.
[9] Here is another example of a large interpretive insertion concerning God’s decision that Moshe and Aharon would not lead the people into Israel because of their sin regarding the rock (Bamidbar 20:12):

That’s quite a few more words than are found in the Hebrew!
[10] Paltiel Birnbaum, “Targum Angli be-Ruah ha-Masoret,” in Pleitat Sofrim: Iyyunim ve-Ha’arakhot be-Hakhmat Yisrael ve-Safrutah (Mossad Harav Kook, 1971), 75.
[11] Of note, Kahane’s translation is available on Sefaria, but with modifications that obscure its radicalness. For one, the format is different: the Hebrew and English are not juxtaposed in the same way. Second, the sources for each verse are cited directly below the translation in parentheses. This is not the way Kahane presented his sources in the original.
[12] Torah Yesharah, xviii-ix.
[13] Among the most intriguing critics of the new JPS was Avram Davidson, who wrote in Jewish Life in 1957 that because the translation was being prepared by non-Orthodox scholars who intended to depart occasionally from the Masoretic text in light of new archaeological discoveries, it was not “being prepared on the Torah’s terms” and was unacceptable. A.A. Davidson, “A ‘Modern’ Bible Translation,” Orthodox Jewish Life 24:5 (1957): 7-11. Davidson later became a science fiction writer of some renown but by the end of his life had become enamored with a modern Japanese religion called Tenrikyo.
[14] J.D. Eisenstein, ed., Otzar Yisrael vol. 10 (New York, 1913), 309. See also the criticism of the 1962 JPS translation and the discussion of Eisenstein and R. Gerstenfeld’s article in Sidney B. Hoenig, “Notes on the New Translation of the Torah – A Preliminary Inquiry,” Tradition 5:2 (1963): 172-205.
[15] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:10 (Oct. 1928): 533.
[16] Indeed, ArtScroll’s Stone Chumash leaves tachash untranslated. Interestingly, R. Kahane just translates “sealskins” like JPS.
[17] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:11 (Nov. 1928): 576.
[18] Ibid., 575-76.
[19] Torah Yesharah, 331.
[20] Philip Slomovitz, “Purely Commentary,” Detroit Jewish News (Aug. 21, 1964), 2.
[21] Birnbaum, 76. It’s interesting that Birnbaum was far more critical of non-literal translations of the siddur. When the RCA incorporated the poetic translations of the British novelist Israel Zangwill into its 1960 siddur edited by Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool, Birnbaum wrote a scathing review in Hadoar, accusing Zangwill’s efforts as being “free imitations,” not translations, and of having Christian influence. Paltiel Birnbaum, “Siddur Chadash Ba le-Medinah,” Hadoar 40:6 (Dec. 9, 1960): 85. Birnbaum may have been jealous of the RCA’s siddur, which was a direct competitor to his 1949 edition. Also, he was unimpressed with Zangwill in particular, who had married a non-Jew and was not halakhically observant. For more about this, see my article in Lehrhaus here.
[22] Nosson Scherman, ed., The Stone Edition Chumash (Mesorah Publications, 1993), xvi.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Ibid., 23.
[25] Ibid., 103.
[26] Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s 1981 Living Torah translation also bears some resemblance to Torah Yesharah in its tendency to follow Chazal, but it too, despite its exceedingly colloquial approach to translation, does not insert large interpretive glosses into the text.
[27] R. Steinsaltz calls the commentary “transparent” and “one whose explanations should go almost unnoticed and serve only to give the reader and student the sense that there is no barrier between him or her and the text,” but I am not sure I agree. See The Steinsaltz Humash (Koren Publishers, 2015), ix. 

Sunday, the second day of Hol HaMo’ad, was the 210th yahrzeit of the Gra. The Gra, a towering figure in modern Judaism, was not immune from criticism. His views, like any other’s were subject to scrutiny. And, at times, there were those who disagreed with the Gra’s conclusions. While this criticism should come as no surprise (and especially so in light of the Gra’s dim view of deference to prior authorities), some felt the Gra should be immune from any criticism. Thus, we find the Gra’s dissenters taken to task for merely arguing with the Gra’s position.
Additionally, this post will be the beginning of a series of posts devoted to reviewing and highlighting one of the most important books in the history of the Jewish book to be published in recent memory. Dr. Yaakov Shmuel Spiegel (who has a terrific Hebrew Wikipedia entry here)has published two volumes of Amudim b’Tolodot Sefer HaIvri. Both volumes are tremendously rich in material and appear to have gone virtually unnoticed. (Unfortunately, Spiegel soon after the publication of the first volume came out with a revised edition. All citations are to the first edition of the first volume.)
As mentioned above, the first part of this post, is the first in a series discussing Spiegel’s book. The second part, although related to Spiegel is not discussed by Spiegel, and instead, is from another important bibliography work, Ohel Rochel.
There is but one review in HaMayaan [and in the latest AJS review of Spiegel’s second volume]. In fact, although those who have read it have recognized its import it has not stopped some from hiding their use of the book. Thus, a couple of weeks ago the Hiddushei HaBach were published on portions of the Talmud. Spiegel has an amazing discussion about the Hagot haBach. Spiegel discusses the history, what the Bach was doing, which edition of the Talmud he had. Perhaps most importantly, Spiegel discusses the errors that have crept into the Bach – mainly because the editors of the Vilna Shas removed the introduction to the work. The introduction explains certain devices that were employed to make clear which words the Bach was removing. Both the device (quotation marks) as well as the explanatory notes no longer appear, thus Spiegel provides numerous examples of people who based their Torah on an incorrect understanding of what the Bach was doing.

Returning to the new Hidushei HaBach, in the introduction they discuss the Bach’s other works. Of course, they discuss the Hagot HaBach and they rely heavily (read almost in entirety) on Spiegel. But, the only times they cite (p. 19 n. 1; p.43 n. 55; p. 46 n.65, n. 67) to Spiegel they use the following abbreviation עמודים בתולדות ה”ה. They do not provide what that means, and only a reader who was already aware of Spiegel’s book would have any idea. This is deliberate as although they are willing to use his book they are unwilling to let others know that.

In this post, however, I will not focus on the Bach, rather as mentioned above, we are going to discuss the Gra, and the first example focuses on the Hagot HaGra. This portion of the post mainly comes from Spiegel (Amudim: Haghot u’Maghim pp. 422-426, 461).

R. Gershon Henoch Leiner, the Radzyner Rebbi, published Sidrei Tahros. Sidrei Tahros is an attempt to fill a gap in the talmud. There are some mesechtot that do not have any talmudic commentary. While some, Zeraim for instance, have at least Yerushalmi, the mesechtot of Tahoros do not. Thus, R. Leiner culled the corpus of Rabbinic literature, Talmud, Midrash, Zohar, etc. and collected the relevant statements to create a “talmud” (it is even labeled as such – the legend on the page reads Gemara) on the two mesechtot of Ohelot and Kelim. Additionally, he wrote his own commentary on these volumes. The volume on Kelim was published in 1873 and included a map that can be seen here. The volume on Ohelot was published in 1903. After that both books were not republished until 1960 in a photomechanical reproduction.

Soon after it came out, people took issue with the entire concept – the concept of “creating” a gemara. Those who came out against him, did so in the newspaper Halevonon (available here – see the 1875 nos. 34, kovod levonon (machberes sheni year 11) 6 tamuz edition and see Ir Vilna vol. 1 p. 60 n. 7 for some choice quotes). Someone responded in Hamaggid (also available online see 17 Av, 1875). Much of this criticism was more focused on the concept of the Sidrei Taharos, (creating a “new” gemara) for our purposes, however, we are going to focus on one point, R. Leiner’s disagreements with the Gra.

In his commentary, R. Leiner takes issue with some of the Gra’s textual emendations. For instance R. Leiner states:
ודע דדברי הגר”א ז”ל בזה בספרו . . . לא איתברר לן ולא זכינו לעמוד בסוד דבריו ז”ל . . . דרכו בקודש נסתרה ונעלמה מאתנו

This is but one of the times R. Leiner disagrees with the Gra. At one time, R. Leiner is willing to attribute his disagreement not to the Gra, but instead, R. Leiner claims that perhaps the difficult statements in the Gra were not made by the Gra. Instead, a student misunderstood and thus it is now necessary to figure out what in fact the Gra said. Setting aside this justification (which, when it comes to the Gra’s notes on the Talmud is difficult to believe in light of the fact much comes from the Gra’s hand itself), R. Leiner still disagreed with the Gra for whatever reason it may be.

R. Yosef Refael and R. Betzalael HaKohen, Dayanim in the Vilna Bet Din were against the whole notion of the Sidrei Tahros. But, they also singled out R. Leiner’s disagreements with the Gra. Specifically, they say

Another example is that of R. Barukh Brody in his book Bet Ya’akov where he states:

R. Brody thus accuses R. Leiner of brazeness, chutzpah, and that R. Leiner “is unable to understand even the simplest explanations.” Harsh words indeed all for disagreeing with the Gra.

The second example deals with a recently discussed book. In our discussion of Teffilah Zakah, we noted that various editions of the Hayye Adam were altered. In this case, we are going to deal with R. Danzig’s other well-known work the Hokhmat Adam. In the prior discussion the removal was due to the inclusion of a controversial book, in this case it was R. Danzig’s own words. [1]

The Hokhmat Adam was published after the Hayye Adam. In the Hayye Adam at various times, he take issue with the opinions of the Gra. R. Danzig was no stranger to the Gra, R. Danzig’s son married the grand-daughter (Gittel Vilner) of the Gra. It appears that R. Danzig’s disagreements with the Gra did not go unnoticed or unopposed.

In the first edition of the Hokhmat Adam, R. Danzig addresses criticisms. R. Danzig notes, inter alia, that the Gra himself would be more than happy to have people disagree with him. It appears, however, that only one copy remains of R. Danzig’s original words. This copy was discovered by Chaim Lieberman, one of the great bibliographers of the past generation, in what was R. Shmuel Straushun’s former library (a portion of the library is now housed in YIVO). The page, in relevant part, reads as follows:

This is not the text that appears in Hokhmat Adam, rather a slightly different text appears. These changes, however, as been demonstrated by Ch. Lieberman are significant. The following is how it appears (prior to the Binat Adam section):

Lieberman points to four major changes. First, the honorifics surrounding the first mention of the Gra. Second, in the first iteration, R. Danzig decided to totally avoid any mention of the Gra while in the second iteration he cites “some small statements” of the Gra. Third, in the later iteration the statement of R. Yochonon is filled in. That is it provides the text. Lieberman allows that perhaps this was done to avoid “confusion” with another statement of R. Yochonon. R. Yohonon (Ketubot 84,b) says about Resh Lakish “what can I do my peer disagrees with me.” Rashi explains that “peer” means equal. Thus, perhaps the reader would think that R. Danzig was comparing himself with the Gra. Instead, the reader is now directed to the statement of R. Yohonon (Pesachim 88,a; Megilah 14,b) generally discussing Resh Lakish providing numerous answers to questions. Finally, in the later iteration the language “it is impossible for me to write what I don’t actually believe” is missing in it entirety. (For Lieberman’s article see Ohel Rochel, vol. 1, 473-74 [first printed in Kiryat Sefer, 37 (1962) pp. 413-14]).

Note:
[1] For examples of R. Danzig’s disagreements and some responses see Eliach, HaGoan, vol. 2 pp. 706-09.